“The door banged open, and Eve rushed out, flushed and mussed and still buttoning her shirt. 'It's not what you think,' she said. 'It was just—oh, okay, whatever, it was exactly what you think. Now, what?”

“Bang bang bang. I understand now why so many horror movies use that device-the mysterious knock on the door-because it has the weight of a nightmare. You don't know what's out there, yet you know you'll open it. You'll think what I think: No one bad ever knocks.”

“She pushed the car. But I was so distracted that i forgot to push the button on the timer, so we had to do the whole thing again. Which Lindsey found hilarious. "Ok" she said. "Are you ready NOW, or do we have to send you back to Button Pushing one-oh-one?" "Um, what's Button Pushing One-oh-one?" I was wearing a button down shirt that day. Lindsey reached out and poked one of the buttons into my chest. "There, that's how you push a button. Any questions?”

“There isn't a button," she said. "You choose your setting and then you pull the dial." He glanced at her as she folded a shirt, annoyed by her nonchalance at doing laundry. "What exactly is my setting? It looks to me like the setting is the goddamn laundry room and the plot is I don't know how to fucking turn this thing on.”

“"Joss""What?""What?" Dylan asked back."You just said my name.""No I didn't""Sorry that was me."I sat up, banging my head on the roof. "Who is that?""Hey, stay down here where the air is good, okay?" Dylan pulled me gently back down. "Hows your head?""Not good, I think.""Um, okay, so you here me. Heather's right, you do think loud. I mean, I've never heard you before, but my Talent seems to be a lot more selective than her's. But now that she's got me turned in to you-""Who are you?""It's still me, Marshall. It's Dylan. I'm right here.""My name's Joel.""Joel?""Joss, what are you talking about?" He took my face in his hands. "Who's Joel?""The voice in my head, I guess.""Jesus.”

“What did you think?' I blurted out, heat rushing to my cheeks. 'Of what?''My writing.''Oh,'Ford said. He looked at me for a long moment before rising stiffly out of his lawn chair. 'I think the whole world should read your poems.”